


Roadside Blues

by Vesta (Biggelois)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggelois/pseuds/Vesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know, Sam," Dean says conversationally, "my knees hurt. I think I have gravel stuck in my kneecaps."</p><p>Sam only grunts in response and chews on the bandana gagging him. There isn't much else he can do, really, since Dean had laid him out on the bed, tied him to the headboard and put the rag in his mouth. This is payback time, and that Sam is frighteningly aware of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roadside Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Backroad Dirt. Sam's POV. It's payback time.

"You know, Sam," Dean says conversationally, "my knees hurt. I think I have gravel stuck in my kneecaps."

Sam only grunts in response and chews on the bandana gagging him. There isn't much else he can do, really, since Dean had laid him out on the bed, tied him to the headboard and put the rag in his mouth. This is payback time, and that Sam is frighteningly aware of.

"And my ass, you wanna hear about how my ass feels today?" Dean gets up on the bed again between Sam's spread legs and leans over him, nose almost touching Sam's. "It hurts like fuck to sit, and I have bruises on my hips, my thighs. It's not pretty, Sammy. I have fucking fingerprints on my hips." He trails a finger down Sam's throat, over his chest, pinching a nipple on the way down.

"I dunno, I don't think you deserve to come tonight. You think I should let you?" He ghosts his lips over Sam's face, licking at his lips around the wet gag. Sam tries to push it out, get his mouth free, the need to bite back at Dean is getting real bad. But Dean just chuckles at him, levering himself up enough so Sam can't even rub his face against Dean's.

"No, no, Sammy. You behave now." He twists Sam's nipple again, making him groan. "You just lie back like a good boy and take it. No fussing, or I'll whip out the handcuffs for you."

There is nothing else to do but to lie back and try not to strain. Sam knows he will end up with his ankles tied to the footboard if he doesn't stay still. Dean takes all he can dish out when Sam needs him to but he sure gives as good as he gets.

Dean hums deep in his throat, the small smile grazing his lips showingthat he is pleased with Sam's obedience. "That's better, baby, much better." He bends down again, taking up the soft licks over Sam's lips. It's pure torture to just lie there and 'take it', but Sam bites the gag and endures. He can't stop the helpless noise escaping and involuntary jerk of his legs though when Dean creeps lower and latches on to a nipple, sucking in it, almost chewing on it.

Sometimes Sam wonders about the differences between them: his own need to see Dean squirm and the red handprints on his ass. Dean, he doesn't function like that. When he wants to drive Sam up the wall or round the bend or whatever he can be so infinitely gentle, his hands are never hard, his touches always soft. He can spend for ever licking, caressing, worshipping Sam, driving him insane. And the patience, where that comes from Sam doesn't know. Dean is the jittery one, always on edge, always ahead, always in motion. But when push comes to shove like this, he's like a glacier; slow drifting, unrelenting and fricking impossible to rush in any way. And definitely impossible to stop until he has got his way and Sam where he wants him.

Just like now, he has kept Sam on the bed for a good couple of hours. He has begun and stopped, motion repeated until Sam tried to get free out of sheer desperation. There are limits to how much teasing he can handle and when Dean had pulled his fingers out of Sam's ass and let go of his cock for the millionth time Sam had done his best to get loose, to get to Dean properly. He hadn't managed; there was no way to get out of Dean's knots. Dean had left him then, first making sure that his hands weren't getting cold, but then spent some time in the bathroom. He had sat on the sofa for a bit, watching Sam, before actually puttering around the room, picking things up. Sam was beginning to get seriously pissed off with Dean, what with him walking around with his hard dick bobbing between his legs, tidying the fucking room. He had tried to get Dean's attention by wriggling even more, spreading his legs and making as much noise he could but to no avail. Dean ignored him.

That Sam could almost handle, but he could not cope with seeing Dean with a hand on his cock, stroking himself. He stood at the foot of the bed, where Sam could see him in all his glory, slowly jacking himself. That was totally wrong, he should be on the bed, between Sam's spread legs, pushing inside and fucking him in that slowdeep way he did, the way that made sparks ignite in Sam's head, made him burn with heat and eased the ache in his too empty ass. Payback really sucked sometimes and it had felt like an eternity but was probably just a few minutes he had been alone on the bed. Sam knew this, Dean would never leave him hanging for long.

Teeth scrape his nipple, fingers twist the other and Sam shouts the best he can behind the rag. Doesn't do him no good anyway, to shout like that. The hot mouth disappears, turning into wet licks all over his belly, not touching his cock, and Sam is certain that he will combust so very soon if Dean doesn't actually do something to him. His ass clenches desperately, Dean has spent a good long time with his fingers lodged deep, stretching and pushing and teasing that spot inside. Now, without fingers or anything inside he feels so empty it almost hurts.

Dean's tongue laps over his jutting hipbones, slithers down the insides of his thighs, lips nipping gently at the soft skin. Sam groans again, and tries to push the gag out. It's not like it's tied around his head, it has been his choice all the time to keep it there so this time he succeeds and spits it out on the pillow beside him. Another of Dean's quirks, just like the ones Sam has, do it freely, give it up. And that makes him wonder about how alike they are in the same matters they differ; tease and tickle to verge of insanity and then 'bang'.

One deep breath and he lets go of all the things he has wanted to say for the last eternity. The words explode out in a garbled stream, barely coherent, but Dean seems to understand, even if he looks up in surprise. Sam almost, just almost, expects Dean to pull back, to stop, because Sam has done what he shouldn't. But instead Dean smiles at him, "Eager, baby? Should think so." He grins brightly and rests his cheek on Sam's thigh.

"You know, we need to clean the car tomorrow. Properly. I tried to get the spunk out from where I shot all over the backseat yesterday, but I couldn't." He swipes his tongue briefly over Sam's balls and the too fleeting contact has him arching up, panting. "It's still there in the seams. It'll smell soon. Smell like fucking. Imagine that when it's hot." He stops talking for a second to suck on the very top of Sam's cock before he continues, "Imagine sitting there in the car, smelling of us fucking. You think you can handle that?"

And no, Sam can't handle that, he can't handle anything right then and there. What the hell is Dean thinking, talking about the car when Sam is dying here? He's going to burst, self combust, and he shouts, losing the words completely. Again Dean seems to catch on, the grin is still bright on his face but he rears up, slinging Sam's legs on is shoulders. "Enough already? Want it, baby boy?"

Dean's hand on his hip, steadying, grounds Sam for the brief moment it takes for Dean to line up and aim. Sam can do nothing but pant, try to get enough air in his lungs, try to not make all those noises that want to come out. He manages the two first, but the noises slip out, still garbled and incoherent.

The thick, wet head of Dean's cock breaches him, slips just inside and stops. The stretch is burning but Sam can't stay still, he tilts his hips up, trying to get more. He's not getting it though, Dean moves with him, stays lodged but goes no deeper. The emptiness is aching and the need to be filled, owned, possessed, overrules the sting of pain. Dean presses him down, pins his hips to the mattress, letting him feel the stretch, waiting again for Sam to snap. And in these moments, when Dean is doing this to him, Sam has these revelations. He knows why Dean does it, and the reason is as beautiful as the other reason, when Dean gives it up to Sam. Dean would never put them into words, maybe just name them chick-flick moments, or tell Sam to knock it off before they turn lesbian. But it's there, the connection, going deeper than the average relationship, going soul deep and binding. Never just the one, always them both. Giving what is needed, giving and taking, like the ebb gives the tide, and the tide takes the shoreline.

What can be excused as thoughts, if you can call raw emotion and smell and touch thoughts, are broken off by the hard snap of Dean's hips, his cock sliding inside until balls slaps against ass and Sam can do nothing but howl. Dean has kept him on the edge for so long, the first push has him almost toppling over, the need to come is screaming through his pelvis, his belly, churning it way up his spine but he keeps it back. Dean stops again, deep inside, and Sam can see the strain on his face, what it takes him to not just pump away and shoot. That eases him down, not much, but the little that is needed.

Dean opens his eyes and looks at him, and no one has ever looked at Sam like that, like he is the ultimate prize, worth everything. And it doesn't matter that Dean never says it aloud, Sam knows anyway. He meets Dean's gaze, licks his lips and gathers what little thought he ahs left. "C'mon, Dean, do it. Fuck me." He grabs the leather straps and hangs on for dear life 'cause he knows what will come.

Dean swallows. Sam can see his Adam's apple bob and sweat trickle down his chin. Then it happens: the long, slow pull back, making Sam feel like his insides are being pulled out, the long slow slide in, that makes his whole body arch of the bed, only his shoulders still in contact with the mattress. Dean grabs his ass, holding him up and spreading him wider, getting deeper. Sam opens his mouth to urge him give more but his words are gone again and he mewls, thin and high.

"Now, look at that," Dean hisses out. "I think I know why you jammed that thing into my ass, look at you now, all stretched on my cock. Little hole all red and swollen, sucking me in."

He rolls his hips almost languidly, making Sam mewl again. Sam, who's too far gone to speak or demand, can only hitch his own hips higher trying to get Dean to move faster, deeper. But trust Dean to keep it slow, and to make it worse, or better, or whatever. He puts his hands under Sam, stroking his fingers around his hole, feeling where he is sliding in and out. It tickles a little and when Dean presses around the tight rim, pushing his thumb between balls and hole Sam gurgles.

"So open for me, taking it." Dean looks up at Sam again, the smile is gone, replaced by bared teeth in an almost snarl. "Can you take more?"

The thumb pressing at him slips lower, slips in alongside his cock inside Sam. The stretch hurts, and Sam has a fleeting feeling of being pulled apart. The thumb goes deeper and the other one is sliding inside too. Sam notices a little hazily that someone is banging the wall behind his head, but he can't be bothered to stop the howl that tears its way from him. He must have been making some noises already, so really, don't care. There is too much inside him, the thumbs sliding the wrong way, pushing in when Dean pulls out and the friction is unbearable and wonderful and that is just about it. He can't take any more, he can feel tears drip down his temples, and if he doesn't get to come soon he will die. He can feel every wrinkle in the skin of Dean's thumbs, the thick vein on his cock, every little twitch multiplies through him like rings on water.

The banging grows louder and perhaps that is what makes Dean snap this time. He pulls his fingers out and Sam is folded in half, thighs pressed almost behind his ears. The bed shakes and bangs the wall when he sets the pace and Sam barely manages to brace his hands against the headboard before he skids up. The angle is awkward, painful to be bent like that, but Sam won't complain. He can't, every time he tries to get a word, a sound out, Dean rams in and knocks the breath out off him. Dean's belly rubs over him, squishing his cock between them, and just when Sam thinks he can't take anymore Dean pegs him straight on.

It hits like a Mac truck. If he didn't have the leather straps to hang on to, Sam would be twisting off the bed. He wants and needs so much it hurts. He's so close he can't breathe. But breathing's overrated when Dean gets a bulls-eye again and Sam knows he is screaming, not words, there are none left, but the sound that comes with the blinding flash behind his eyes making the world fuzzy at the edges. He can hear himself whimper and the harsh grunts mingled with slurred words from Dean when he's working himself to completion.

His arms hurt like hell when Dean unties him. Must be something like Dean's knees and Sam knows he should feel bad about that but he doesn't have it in him, he's too sated. Dean's hand rests on his forehead, fingers stroking softly over his eyebrow, lulling him into a drowsy blissed out part of Nirvana when it hits him what Dean really said when he was coming. "Dude," Sam says," my fucking knees, what kind of stupid thing is that to say?"


End file.
